


Punch/Counter-Punch

by Alethia



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Episode Related, F/M, Peggy POV, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You do recall that I bested you quite handily the last time we fought each other?"</p><p>"I won't hold it against you," he said with the arrogance that never ceased to set her teeth on edge. "Come on, Marge. We both know you'd love nothing more than to punch me in the face again. Here's your chance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch/Counter-Punch

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 2.03 "Better Angels." An alternate take on Peggy working over that punching bag. All I know about boxing is what I learned on the Internet. Posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/740513.html).

Peggy landed punch after satisfying punch, the bag swaying with each hit in the most satisfying of ways. With every shot Thompson's words rang in her ears, demanding evidence, needing proof beyond just her say-so, proof she didn't have and couldn't seem to get. It was maddening. 

Awareness prickled along her spine. One more jab—

And she spun around, on high alert. But nothing was there, the pool empty and still, the house quiet. 

From her other side: "Imagining it's my face?" Thompson asked, humor laced through the words. 

At the sound of his voice Peggy's whole body relaxed. She spun back, landing one more solid punch before exhaling sharply and turning to him. "I can't fathom what you mean."

Thompson smirked in that infuriating way of his as he stepped closer, hands in suit his pockets, the picture of ease. "We've worked together for years now, Carter. You think I don't know you?"

"That implies you care enough to bother."

"Now, now, I try to be a good boss to all my agents."

Peggy simply scoffed at that. It wasn't even worth pursuing, so she changed the subject: "How did you find me?"

"Gee, it's almost like I'm a trained investigator."

Peggy shook her head. "Fine, I'll grant you that. So, what is it? Why are you here?"

"I'm being a good boss, checking on my agent."

Peggy gestured around the house. "Checking out Stark's mansion? Hoping to catch a glimpse of some starlets. Who's that one you like, Rita Hayworth?"

Thompson's lips curled, almost rueful. He looked around at the pool, the house. "It is a nice house. You always do land in the lap of luxury."

Peggy's eyes narrowed. She didn't much like the implications of that. "If you have something to say, get on with it."

Thompson shook his head as he unbuttoned his coat. "No. I'm good." He shrugged out of the coat, tossing it aside. Then he went to work on his tie. 

Peggy straightened as an alarm began ringing in her head. "What do you think you're doing?"

Thompson nodded at the punching bag. "The problem with the bag is it can't hit back. Where's the challenge in that? No, what you need is a good sparring partner."

"When you find a suitable candidate, do let me know."

Thompson just smirked again, tossing his tie down on top of his coat. "I got you covered." He unbuttoned his top two shirt buttons, then went to work on rolling up his sleeves. 

Peggy shifted, discomfited by the sight of Thompson undressing in front of her. But that was ridiculous. There was no reason for her to be bothered by any of it. 

"If you mean to engage in a spar, Chief Thompson, I really must protest. What will the boys say when you can't move tomorrow?"

"You can call me Jack. And I think you underestimate me."

"You do recall that I bested you quite handily the last time we fought each other?"

"I won't hold it against you," he said with the arrogance that never ceased to set her teeth on edge. "Come on, Marge. We both know you'd love nothing more than to punch me in the face again. Here's your chance."

Peggy's eyes narrowed. He was manipulating her and she knew it full-well. The problem was she _did_ want to punch him in the face again, especially after today, and she couldn't see a reason not to indulge herself.

She stalked over to the bench that held her bag and promptly pulled two more wraps from it. She tossed them to Thompson, unable to help the frisson of irritation when he caught them without looking. "Wrap your hands. And after I beat you again remember that this was your idea."

"Yes, sir," he said, eyes twinkling, making quick work of the wraps, that irritating smirk still in place. She'd be glad for the opportunity to wipe it from his smug face. 

Done with his hands, he stepped closer, taking up a ready position, arms loose. Of course his stance was perfect. She tried not to let her eyes linger on his body, ruthlessly ignoring how fit he was. She was simply...evaluating an opponent, after all. 

Thompson just waited. Peggy studied him, trying to anticipate from where he'd attack—

But none came. After a moment, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, I have to make the first move, do I?"

Thompson shrugged, still smiling a little. "Ladies first."

Peggy shook her head, because _of course_ , then instantly sprang into a straight jab.

Thompson didn't even blink; he blocked it handily, counter punching for good measure, which Peggy slipped. 

Thompson tilted his head. "Not bad, Carter."

"What? No quips about how I hit like a girl?" she asked, dry, staying just out of his reach, waiting for his move. 

Thompson simply shook his head. "I really think you're imagining all these digs I take at you women."

Peggy's breath caught, it was that monumentally ridiculous. Thompson chose that exact moment to attack, going at her with straight rights, then wide rights, Peggy rolling out of all of them, getting a sense of the rhythm of his punches. 

Thompson narrowed his eyes at her, canny. "Taking my measure, are you?" 

"Oh, I have your measure." With that she attacked, quick jabs that forced him to block, targeting the male pride that would inevitably lead him into a sloppy mistake.

Thompson jabbed back, but didn't lose his head, which was somewhat of a surprise. Perhaps he was more controlled than she'd given him credit for. He'd never seemed it, but every once in a while she caught a glimpse of an adult within him. 

Peggy moved back and lowered her hands just a little, baiting his jab, but Thompson just smirked at her and shook his head. "Not going for it."

Smart, then. Too smart to fall for that. This match would be trickier than she expected. 

And yet Thompson seemed downright relaxed. She couldn't tell if it was because he was that well trained or if this was another dig at her, that he needn't worry about her at all. 

But then she reminded herself: he was smart. Infuriatingly so. 

She studied his form, noting he was grounded in his footwork, no tension anywhere to be seen. It was impossible to get a read on what he'd do next. She couldn't help but be impressed by the way he moved, easy steps to the right, left, walking around like it was nothing, but always keeping his guard up, primed to attack.

More worrisome was all the touching. Thompson couldn't keep his bloody hands to himself, touching her to distract her focus. A brush of fingers to her shoulder, getting her guard up as he attacked from the opposite angle, forcing her to block and absorb some of the blow. He touched her arms, forcing her to punch around his moving forearms, frustrating her. He even touched her face, throwing her enough for him to slip her punch and step away. 

"You are intensely irritating," Peggy ground out, advancing on him again, trying to ignore how flustered she was. 

"Now, Peg, no need to sweet-talk me." He moved in on her with a left jab, which Peggy parried down with her right, countering over the top. 

Thompson slipped it easily with a rogue's grin. He reveled in satisfaction for a moment...but quickly turned serious, the foreplay seemingly over. 

Not—not _foreplay_. Obviously. Peggy shifted, not liking the tenor of her thoughts. 

But the playful teasing that made his eyes glitter in the reflected light from the pool, that had gone, replaced by the direct study of her form. In any other circumstance it might make her flush. Then he opened his mouth: "Tell me, Carter. Why do you have to be so hard on me?" 

"Me? Hard on _you_?" Peggy couldn't help the note of incredulity in her voice. 

More quickly than she thought possible, Thompson moved in, going for body blows, forcing Peggy to slip and counter. His inside game was impressive, rolling off her punches like they were nothing, constantly slipping her, making her miss and exhaust herself after she'd already been training.

Smart. 

His eyes held an intensity, though. That wasn't just a question to rile her. He clearly wanted an answer, as if this had been weighing on him. 

"All you do is push my buttons when I'm only asking for evidence."

"And I'm only asking for trust. Trust in the fact that I know what I'm doing," she answered with another jab, easily parried. 

The next time he tried to take a shot, Peggy held out her hand right in front of his, slapping it down and punching over it. 

He actually laughed bitterly as he ducked that one. 

"Right, I don't know that you're good at your job," he shot back sarcastically. "What more's it gonna take, huh? I let you have your own investigations. I let you run around with the boys."

Peggy bristled. "You _let_ me?"

Her next right cross went wide, Thompson countering with his own right, so Peggy deflected it up and attacked with a left hook, which he slipped. 

It was possible Thompson was better at getting under her skin than she was at getting under his. That was...unexpected. And she didn't much like what it said about her, that he could rile her so easily. 

Why _was_ she letting him get to her?

"Yes, I _let you_. Dooley had you delivering coffee and taking lunch orders. No one above me would bat an eye if I made you do the same, but I don't."

Even though she knew he was right, she still couldn't help the frustrated anger that welled within her. "Well, thank you, Jack. Thank you for letting me do my job to protect this country. It's so very big of you."

With that, Peggy launched into another series of attacks, searching for a weakness. She didn't find one. 

Thompson returned with a high jab, which Peggy down parried. She stepped back into southpaw stance, deflecting his right with a side parry, countering with a left cross. 

Which he still managed to duck, moving out and away. But there was something different in his eyes now, some kind of regard. 

"Damn, Carter, I am impressed," he said, the truth of that clear in his voice. 

It pleased some traitorous part inside her. She reminded herself she didn't validation.

...but admiration wasn't so terrible.

Thompson moved in on her, slipping inside, finally landing a bruising punch to her flank, then skillfully avoiding her counter. Pain blossomed all through her side, through her ribs, seizing her lungs. 

Peggy stepped back, catching her breath, feeling that hit reverberate. 

Say nothing else about Thompson, but he was good. 

And he knew to press his advantage. Thompson touched her fist to distract her, then immediately committed to a left hook, but that's when she saw it: he dropped his right hand. She instantly seized on it, throwing a left hook of her own, connecting solidly with his jaw, feeling it in the flex of her knuckles. 

It was exactly as satisfying as she'd imagined. 

The force of her punch sent him back into one of the draped posts, where he stayed, a little stunned. He brought his hand to his jaw, cradling it. Then he smiled, rueful. "Yeah, I probably deserved that, after everything."

Peggy stalked toward him, intent on repeating the experience—

But instead of the straight punch she'd planned—one he didn't even attempt to block—she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him to her. 

"What—" His protest was cut off when her mouth landed on his, violent, almost too hard to be good. Thompson froze in her hands as her lips moved over his—

And then he recovered, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his arm wrapping around her waist, fusing them together. Peggy made some noise at the feeling of it, crushed against the hard planes of his body, heat bleeding between them as his mouth took control. 

Thompson nipped on her bottom lip, teasing her mouth open until their tongues tangled, sharing taste, a spark careening down Peggy's spine. 

She got a hand around his neck as the heat of it swept through her, all the way down to her toes, flexing in her shoes it was so good. 

Thompson cradled her jaw, sinking into the kiss, something hungry about it, like he'd never get enough. His other hand smoothed over her hip and even through her trousers the touch lit feeling _everywhere_. 

Abruptly, she pushed him away. 

"Dammit," she cursed herself, half-turning from him, hand going to her mouth as thoughts flew through her mind. What had she been _thinking_? She didn't—he was—well, yes, he was attractive, but his behavior was odious. And certainly, he'd given her more freedom than Dooley ever had, but she'd _earned_ that and he still questioned her at every turn. 

All of which took on an entirely different light considering what had just happened. _Dammit_.

Thompson stayed silent, for which Peggy thanked all that was holy. 

Of course it couldn't last. 

"So _that's_ what it's about."

Peggy finally looked over at him, the faint hint of her lipstick still staining his lips, his clothing rumpled from more than exercise. It was enough to bring a flush to her skin, which she resolutely ignored. "What?"

Thompson rubbed at his mouth, seemingly startled. "You like me."

"I _dis_ like you," Peggy corrected immediately.

"Well, sure, but you like me, too, and it drives you crazy," he said it as though he were filled with the light of conviction, all the world made sense. 

"I do not."

Thompson narrowed his eyes at her, studying something. It wouldn't bother her except that he was actually insightful when he put his mind to it and she didn't want him seeing...whatever was on her face right now. 

After a moment his tone went dry: "Could you admit to it if I made ridiculous doe eyes at you like Sousa?" Thompson widened his eyes, looking at her with a pleading, adoring expression. 

"What are you—stop that at once!"

Thompson's expression cleared. "My point exactly. You like me this way. And you hate that you like it." His voice lowered on the last part as he moved toward her again. 

Peggy backed away, unsure what he planned to do, but sure she didn't want to find out. And she especially didn't want to give him any more ammunition. More than she already _had_. 

"Chief Thompson—"

"Jack," he said again, eyes trained hotly on hers, following her until her back hit the wall. 

"I think you should leave," she said, hating how breathless her voice sounded.

"Do you," he murmured, too close now, all masculine heat and looming presence, his attention squarely focused on her. 

Peggy straightened under the onslaught, chin up. She'd handled much worse than Jack Thompson looking at her with intent. 

So why did she still feel like her skin was so flushed?

"Yes. Absolutely. That's the wisest course." 

Another moment of his unbearable scrutiny...

And Jack held out his hands, stepping back. "All right, Carter, have it your way," he said, moving over to gather his things. Then he paused: "But we're not done and you know it."

With that pronouncement, Jack sauntered away into the balmy evening, his voice floating back to her: "See you in New York."

Peggy closed her eyes, sagging in relief, too many contradictory emotions flooding her at once: shock and heat and a shameful desire to do it again. 

And then his words truly registered. In New York. Together. 

Bollocks.

She straightened again as a plan formed. There was no way she could return to New York. She had a case to solve. 

And if a little voice asked her if there weren't any other reasons, well. It could stuff it.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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